


Taking Care

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Reader, BAMF!Reader, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Dean and Sam think they know best, but so do you. No matter how dumb you all are about it, though, you’re lucky to have each other.





	Taking Care

**Author's Note:**

> One of those things that turned out differently than I expected. Not complaining, though I don’t have the patience to edit as much as I normally do. Have some fluff.

 

 

You’re going to kill them.

Granted, you may be a little late to that particular party, but you have it on good authority that the shitlord demon you’ve been hunting hasn’t killed them yet. That’s good. Because after you kill him you are going to wring their fucking necks.

Goddamn motherfucking stubborn-ass _Winchesters_.

“We’ll probably be gone when you get back,” Dean had said. “It looks like there’s a shifter making trouble in Wyoming; Sam’s coming for research. Make yourself at home.”

“I always do,” you had replied, blissfully ignorant of his lying liar face spitting out some extra lying lies. You had even stopped at the grocery store on your way in and once the food was put away, you had started picking up. That’s when you had found the first clue– a scrap of paper that said ‘black eyes – WA’ that you knew hadn’t been in that book the week before. Because you had just read that book. A little extra digging had revealed that Sam and Dean were not, in fact, chasing down a shifter in Wyoming so much as they were tracking a demon in Washington. And you were _pissed_.

You stop your trek through show-sucking mud to take a breath and listen to your surroundings. Birdsong and just the right amount of shifting leaves for an old forgotten hiking trail. You heft your supply bag over the other shoulder and keep going.

Being a hunter doesn’t make you a lot of friends in the supernatural community. Not shockingly, you’re pretty okay with that. When you were still green demons were the stuff of nightmares and you could only hope not to run into one, but after the apocalypse (the first one) they’ve become par for the course. So a few months ago, when you had first found out a demon had sworn vengeance for some reason or another, you actually weren’t incredibly concerned. You were maybe even flattered. So sue you, if some hellspawn hated you enough to essentially announce itself as your archenemy, you couldn’t help but take it as a compliment. You were doing something right.

As the sky begins to darken and a small wooden shack comes into view, you realize the headache just isn’t worth the amusement. Not that you had been in love with the idea before, it just didn’t become a priority. Other people kept getting hurt and killed and you were a hunter; you could– _can_ protect yourself. And if a demon is too focused on you to kill or maim or terrorize other humans, you can’t really see a big downside there.

If only you had realized the depths of which it worried Sam and Dean, you probably would have nipped it in the bud a lot sooner.

“We should take care of this guy,” Sam had insisted. “What if he tries to get the drop on you in a hunt?”

“That’s a problem for Future Me,” you had said, picking up your duffle. “Right Now Me has a vampire nest to clear out. I’ll see you guys in a few days. Don’t you dare go out while your shoulder is still fucked up.”

Sam had frowned and rubbed his arm, but with his good one he had hugged you goodbye, you had stopped to give a quick noogie to Dean while he was distracted with his magazine (that you steadfastly avoided looking at), and you had rushed out the door, figuring that was that.

Fucking Winchesters. Had they even waited a day to move in on this? You come up to the door that is padlocked to hell and back, and dig around your bag until you pull out the axe. It’s a little small, but it’s sharp enough to clean through a medium-sized vampire nest so it’ll have to do. You think of Sam and Dean going behind your back and it’s enough to get you a few good clean cuts. You think of Sam going on this hunt without full range of motion and the wood splinters, coming dangerously close to your eye. You flinch, but don’t stop. Because they thought this job would be so fucking easy they’d be able to slide right on back to the bunker without you being any wiser.

You cleave a good-sized hole in the door and keep going, aiming towards the locks, until you’ve essentially carved around them, and you kick the door open with more force than it needs. As wood tumbles down the steps you catch your breath and take out a flashlight and your trusty angel blade, and descend. The stairs creak and the scent of dirt and rot fills your nose. This is basically a hole in the ground barely reinforced and you don’t want to be here any longer than is necessary.

The room at the bottom of the stairs is nearly as small as the one at the top. A large pole is fixed into the ground and tied to it are two unconscious hunters. Dean has some blood at the top of his crown but he’s breathing fine. Sam is breathing fine as well but his shoulder is out of its socket _again_. You’re going to have to set it _again_.

Just as your blood really starts to boil at the thought a cheesy little overhead bulb is clicked on and you turn to see three people– sorry, three black-eyed bastards standing at the base of the stairs. One of them lets go of the chain that brought the light and smirks.

He opens his mouth and you stab him in the chest with the angel blade. Literally, not a word exits before he pulses orange and collapses to the floor. Both of the other demons look surprised, but your friendly neighborhood stalker begins to yammer. “Not much for pleasantries are y–”

He dodges a swipe so you go for the other one and get a small cut before it goes for some more dirty tricks. A long necklace full of every type of warding and sigil you can find hangs heavy on your neck under your clothes and keeps you from getting tossed around too much, or pinned, but the protection can only do so much and you are fighting for your life against _two_ demons. By yourself. Because Sam and Dean are _assholes_.

You’re cut, bruised, and wearing down when Dean suddenly yells, “Behind; left!”

You spin out of the way of Demon Friend and cut down so the blade enters the crook of his neck. He falls, dead, and your attention is pulled back to Demon Stalker, the one who _started_ this mess, when he gets a deep cut in on your upper arm. You yelp and leap to the side, but that fucker starts like he’s going to start _talking_ again and you have zero fucking patience for this shit. You should be at home, wrapped up in your favorite hoodie and sweats, watching your favorite TV shows, and instead you are in a hole, Sam and Dean are hurt, and _this fucker_ is to blame. Mostly.

You zone out for a moment, so incensed that you only snap out of your berserker rage when the demon opens his mouth wide. You react on instinct and drive your angel blade down its throat. It doesn’t make any logical sense– it’s not like you can stab the smoke form of the demon, can’t keep it in its host if it truly exits, but the thought of it escaping after it hurt two of your best friends is something you cannot abide. You stab it in time to hear it choke on whatever divine steel this thing is made of before blood starts pouring out, and the demon pulses once, twice, and is gone.

You rip out your weapon and turn to face Sam and Dean. You’re exhausted, sore, cut open on multiple parts of your body and maybe bearing some cracked ribs. It’s super great, really. At least the boys are conscious now and you stare down at them, seething, much to their apparent shock (even as groggy as Sam is). Vaguely, you remember that you’re covered in blood. You don’t care.

“Forget someone?” you say, deathly level in tone.

“Shit,” Dean says and Sam groans.

Yup.

 

You make sure you personally set Sam’s shoulder and stitch up any deep cuts either of them have, and purposefully ignore their offers to (much more gently, they assure) do the same for you. When you arrive home you do curl up in your favorite comfy outfit but it’s not the same. Sam and Dean tiptoe around you for a couple of days and you miserably munch on some of the food you bought. Eventually, you go to the library, where Dean is eating and Sam is reading. They glance up but say nothing. You respond in kind, plucking a book from a shelf devoted to pleasure reading, and try to lose yourself somewhere else.

Dean sighs and scoots his plate away. He says your name. You ignore him even though you’ve read the same sentence five times now. You still have no idea what it says. “We have to talk.”

“Is anything going to come of that, or are you just going to lie again?” you say. You look up. “Is ‘shifter in Wyoming’ the new ‘girlfriend in Canada’?”

“Come on,” Dean groans. “So the demon got the drop on us. We would have been fine.”

You slam the book shut.

“Dean…” Sam says nervously and scrambles to sit up. He must jerk his shoulder because he winces and you shoot him a glare that has him pressing back into his seat and swallowing.

“You would have been fine,” you say, flat as a board.

“Yes,” Dean insists. “We’ve been in tighter spots before, against worst.”

You breathe deeply in and out of your nose. Killing Dean would be useless. The fucker never stays dead for long. “Why.”

He squints in confusion. He maybe should take a break from Cas for a little while. “Why what?”

“Am I really that bad that you think I can’t handle one little fuckwit of a demon?” you ask, pressing forward, because it needs to be said.

“Hey, no, that’s not–” Sam starts but you can’t accept anymore bullshit. You stand up and storm out.

You expect to get back to your room but Dean catches up. “Hey!” Dean grabs you and pulls you back, pressing you against the wall on your arm that isn’t stitched and bandaged. You stare resolutely elsewhere but Dean, stubborn jackass he is, puts his arms on either side of you. He looks at you like he can see right into you and for a moment you consider running because you’re not here for platitudes. You just want them to trust you, trust your abilities, but apparently that isn’t happening. Still, Dean insists, “You’re a good hunter.”

“Damn right I am,” you huff but it falls flat.

“It wasn’t about you not being good enough. It’s the fact that…good enough isn’t always good enough.” Dean licks his lips and Sam stands, shadow cast over you. Dean sighs. “Sam and I have been doing this our whole lives. We’re good. And yet, we’ve died. Cas is an _angel_ and he’s died. And a hell of lot of good people have died around us and not come back.”

You swallow something heavy. “My number’s gonna come up sooner or later, guys. That’s unavoidable.”

“I’m pretty sure we’d have the later over the sooner, if it’s all the same to you,” Sam says quietly and smiles weakly.

You roll your eyes, trying to lighten up. “Same. It’s a little difficult, though, when my usual backup gets taken down before I even arrive and I have to fight three demons on my own. No matter how fucking dumb they are.”

“You…” Dean sighs. “You’re right. It was a dumb call. But you kept brushing us off, ‘it’s no big deal’, what were we supposed to do?”

“Talk to me,” you say, emphasizing every word. “If you told me how nervous it made you I would have made it a priority.”

“You should have made it a priority for yourself! You’re not disposable,” Dean snaps and you…you don’t have a good comeback for that.

“I’m not…I know that,” you mumble.

“Do you?” Sam presses. Fucking vultures, you swear. “Because you kept saying that it was better the demon was focused on you. Like if it attacked you then that would be an acceptable loss.”

“I know what I signed up for.” This is so unfair.

“So do we, but how many times do you yell at us when we do something stupid?” Dean says.

Stubborn-ass Winchesters. “Including this time?” you ask and most of the anger has dissipated. Most. “I don’t like that you went behind my back and lied about it.”

“And we don’t like that you didn’t take us seriously,” Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes but shrugs his good shoulder in assent.

“I guess that’s fair. It’s just…” You look away again. “It feels like you were trying to save me from it and I hate that. I can handle a demon.”

“Obviously. You saved us.” Sam smiles and it’s a little less tentative, a little more real. “But we weren’t saving you. We were eliminating a threat. You mess with one Winchester, you mess with all of us.”

You have to take a moment for that to sink in. And you wait some more but Sam doesn’t take it back and Dean doesn’t correct him. They just stare at you and suddenly it feels like too much– not that you’ll ever admit it. You haven’t had family in a long time, not really; they, and Cas, are the closest you have, and you haven’t wanted to jinx it. You swallow back tears and say, “I don’t know, guys, you have such shit luck that maybe I don’t want to be a Winchester.”

Luckily they take your tease for what it is. Dean looks relieved to be out of the moment and growls, “You should be so lucky!” before digging his knuckles into your skull in a truly merciless noogie. Sam rolls his eyes at the both of you and walks away and you and Dean follow.

And when midnight comes you help Sam stack up his books and you irritate Dean out of sleeping at the table so he can get to bed, because taking care of each other is what family does, and you have your work cut out for you. But so do they, and you’re fairly certain none of you would have it any other way.


End file.
